


Armed with wit and determination

by WhumpTown



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Calanthe and Eist being good parents, Calanthe loves them both, Do you see the way he looks at her?, Eist being a great dad, Eist is a fucking goofball, F/M, He's my favorite, I can't believe they shot him in the head, They're relationship goals, heart eyes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:13:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22194601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhumpTown/pseuds/WhumpTown
Summary: A fic about Eist and Calanthe's marriage(especially the parts with Cirilla)
Relationships: Calanthe Fiona Riannon & Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, Calanthe Fiona Riannon/Eist Tuirseach, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Calanthe Fiona Riannon/Eist Tuirseach, Eist Tuirseach & Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon
Comments: 17
Kudos: 115





	Armed with wit and determination

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't read the books  
> I didn't play the game  
> I'm just here because Eist can honestly get it... and because I think he and Calanthe are fucking adorable.

Calanthe drowns the ale from her mug, setting it down heavily. All while she watches her daughter and son-in-law. Pavetta giggles as Duny kisses her jaw, the two of them kissing despite the fact that he just put food in his mouth. She scowls and looks down at her food, suddenly not that interested in it. Calanthe leans to her side, bumping shoulders with Eist,” they’re rather disgusting, aren’t they?”

Eist grunts, his head leaning on his hand. Proper table etiquette, no elbows on the table, be damned because the King doesn’t want to look at his step-daughter get handsy with her husband. He’s just pushing food around his plate with his fork. He glances at her out of the corner of his eye,” I’ve had more fun watching boys get their sea legs.” Then he sighs down at his plate, shaking his head.

Pavetta and Duny remain impervious, laughing and touching. It’s that sickening kind of newlywed love that children like them engage in. They can’t break away, always looking at each other. Nearly, attached at the hip and anything farther than an arm away is a distance too far.

Earlier that day, Calanthe woke up in Eist’s arms and told him that he didn’t get his cold feet away from her she was going to chop his penis off and send it to Skellig on one of his little ships. He laughed, deep and meaningful. He kissed her, despite her tone and she’d kissed him back. An hour later and they’re arguing about politics and war by the fire, Calanthe only half meaning it when she said she wished she could push him into it.

“She’s impossible!” 

Eist looks up from his scroll, glancing around the empty room. Checking to make sure Pavetta’s rage is aimed his way. He sighs because it is. “Uhm,” he clears his throat. “W-Who?” He has nephews, plenty. Their problems were commonly sexual in nature and could mostly be solved with a fistfight. What he’s gathered around Calanthe and Pavetta, girls are not like that. 

“My mother!” Pavetta throws her arms up as if this was painfully clear. She growls in frustration, shaking her tiny fist-shaking at her side. “She’s impossible! How? How do you stand it? Her?”

Eist sighs,” I don’t know.” Truthfully, he hasn’t even got an idea as to what Pavetta is talking about. He never really does and yet she comes back every time. Give it an hour and Pavetta will have aired her frustration and Calanthe will be hot on her heels. Storming into the room to tell him how pig-headed and stupid her daughter is. He’ll take Calanthe and Pavetta over Pavetta coming to him to cry to him about Duny. Pavetta wants his advice on Duny despite his advice always aimed at killing Duny and just trying again.

For some reason, she still wants him around when her daughter is born. He’ll be the first to say, a few months was not nearly enough time to prepare him for being a grandfather.

“Pavetta,” his whispers softly, a last-ditch effort to convince her he is the last person she wants holding her newborn baby girl. Even if she has forbidden he utter another excuse to shy away from her daughter. Standing dumbly, he wipes his sweaty palms on his pants. Calanthe grins. He looks up and she's handing him the baby, unable to withdraw a smile of her own at the sight of her husband. Encouraged by Calanthe’s pleased grin, Eist rocks his body gently, glancing at Calanthe for direction. “Hello, little one.” He has nephews but they were so much bigger when he held them. Toddlers more than newborns.

The little girl grows still at the sound of his voice, peering up at him with squinted eyes. Her moment of shock, little eyes slowly growing wider as they look at him, is over quickly. She squirms in agitation, seeking her mother and not worried about the old man holding her. 

He pats the small child’s bottom, shushing her softly with a small sway. “It’s alright,” he brushes one of her little tears away with his thumb. “No more tears, darling.” The baby reaches up and grabs his thumb, squeezing. He chuckles surprised, glances at the others for guidance on what that means. 

Pavetta smiles at him, humored with the sight of Eist and her baby. A natural, just as she knew he would be. She’s not all that worried about her baby and step-father. Eist is built like a big, terrifying, killing machine. In some ways, he is. He’s also a goofball and a complete softy and anyone can tell that just by looking at him grinning down at the little baby in his arms. So, she lets herself fall asleep under the soft touch of Duny’s hand running through her hair. She nearly asleep, curled up against her husband's chest. She tells them,” her name is Cirilla. Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon.” 

Calanthe leaves Eist’s side, slipping around to the side of her daughter’s forehead. She feels immense pride over her daughter. She’s raised a real lioness, despite Pervetta’s strong protest that she’ll be a ‘lioness’. “Sleep, my child.” She frowns down at Duny before saying, softer than how she usually speaks to him,” you had better sleep too. Don’t worry about the baby, I’ll make sure Eist doesn’t drop her.”

Duny and Calanthe share a smile but Eist frowns down at the baby. He won't drop her. He’s a sailor, a strong man. He’s carried grown men across his shoulders, been to war more times than he’s got time to count, and… well, he loves her. Loves this little baby and her family. Her grandmother and her mother. “I’ve got you,” he whispers,” nobodies gonna drop you.”

Pavetta loves watching her Cirilla with them. How soft both men become as well. The way Eist lights up when Cirilla babbles nonsense to him as if she were carrying a conversation with him. Even Duny, talking to his daughter as she sleeps on his chest. Cirilla brings out the best in them, forcing smiles on their faces with youth and innocence. She wants to be by their side every possible second. To sit with her grandmother during meetings. Placed upon her lap to watch the knights do silly things. Following Eist so frequently he develops a shadow, a toddler with the mouth of a sailor- his sailor's mouth. 

For four years, its bliss. They sail back and forth between Skillag and Cintra. It works for them.

All the while, Calanthe falls more in love with Eist. Each time she kisses him she’s surprised to find he tastes of salt, like the air at sea. His stupid hair perpetually windswept no matter how much time is spent trying to make it lay down. She finds she likes the way he smiles when he’s at sea, how boisterous and child-like he becomes telling her about their boats. His love for her daughter and grandchild, as if they were his. 

She wakes up, one morning, and he is not there. The covers are thrown back, his side cold. She frowns, trying to remember if Eist had told her of plans to leave early or go sailing. She sits up, pulling the blankets to cover her naked body. Just in time for Eist to throw the door open. His eyes land on hers, red-rimmed and lips pressed into a sad frown. “Oh, my love.” He runs a nervous hand through his hair. He sits on the edge of the bed, an exhausted exhale on his lips. “Something’s happened.”

He tells her about their daughter. Guilt a deep ugly sea in his chest, no doubt that their deaths have something to do with the law of surprise. The call of destiny he enabled. Now, their grandchild won't come home nor Pavetta. Calanthe had promised when they return there would be a feast with so many sweets Cirilla couldn't eat them all. Then, Eist would put her to bed with as many stories about Skellig as her heart could desire. 

There will never be a feast. 

Calanthe cries and shouts profanities at him. She hits his chest and commands he leaves her now least he desires to find himself on the end of her sword. Curse him and his stupid islands. It's his fault. He defended the law of surprise. He doesn’t leave her side, taking her into his arms as she sobs. Her fist gathers the material of his shirt as she cries awful things, unspeakable pain. 

The travel to Skellig the next day is like no trip they've ever taken. Calanthe is in pain but she's holding strong for her image as the lioness. Eist shoulder becomes the only place she breaks, only allowing herself a moment. It hurts, in a strange way to see Eist defeated, different from the raw ache of her child's death. He gets seasick, something that everyone is startled to see. She hears the sailors gossip, that if Eist is sick at sea than that spells nothing but misfortune for their journey. She starts to notice small things: the weight he's dropping, restless sleeping, and aimless staring. It startles her.

“I can’t lose you too,” she yells, finding that no matter how much she asks and pleads he won't eat, won't sleep. She shoves him and her heart breaks at the utter defeat written across his face. She puts a hand on his chest, rubbing her thumb against the rough material of his shirt. Struggling through tears she asks,” do you understand that, you bastard?”

He nods his head, keeping it bowed in defeat. Calanthe crosses the space between them, running her hands across his cheek and through the hair at the back of his head. He buries his face in her neck, wrapping his arms around her. “It’s my fault,” he whispers,” I’m so sorry.”

She shushes him gently, his hot tears on her skin. “Shh, you silly man.” She rubs his head, pressing a kiss to his neck,” you could not have known.” He cries softly, holding her tighter against him. She rubs his back, holding him until the sobs stop wracking through his large build. She reaches up with little hesitation and cups face,” I love you Eist.” The scruff on his cheeks is course against her fingers. His face thinner, haggard with exhaustion.

He frowns sadly and leans his forehead against her,” and I… I love you, too.” 

Eist stands in shock when they get to Skellig. Little Cirilla, intact and in perfect health, standing on the shore. Despite the news, they’d been fed. Balling her little eyes out as she fights to get away from the nurse holding her back. To get to them. Calanthe catches her in her arms, holding her granddaughter tight. Eist remains motionless, afraid he’ll blink and she’ll be carried with the breeze.

Cirilla sleeps with them that night. Tears still drying on her cheeks. Eist sits guard, Cirilla asleep in his lap. Calanthe is curled into his side, her own tears drying too. She holds Eist's hand as if she were afraid he'd slip away in the night. He comes up with outrageous theories and he thinks about sailing away. If news can get to Cintra that Duny, Pavetta, _and_ Cirilla were killed than perhaps, Pavetta is still alive too. He could go looking for her but he looks down at the woman by his side, the little girl in his lap. He can't lose them too.

\----------

Calanthe hides a smile as she hears Eist roar down the hall. The knights' armor creeks as they stand, glancing between the door and Calanthe. Who is the picture of calm despite her husband acting a fool a few feet away. It’s a calm facade one masters when you marry a King but get a man-child instead.

Finally, the door creaks open and Eist's head pops in. He immediately straightens up, cheeks slightly flushed. He nods to the knights and the other men at the table, " boys." His serious face falls away when he sees Calanthe. He smiles at his wife, " darling." Of course, she scowls at him but he winks at her. Turning back to the hall, Eist grins, " if you lads will excuse me. I've got a grandchild to mercilessly tickle." Just as he'd popped up, he's gone.

Calanthe shakes her head,” he spoils that child.”

Mousesack nods his agreeance but he smiles at his queen,” she is his only grandchild, your majesty.”

Cirilla’s happy squeal comes from the hall, Eist roaring again, and Calanthe can only smile. Eist is probably throwing Cirilla around, running about and tickling her little sides mercilessly. “I suppose,” she sighs but secretly, she can’t wait to join them later. To have Cirilla recount her brave actions while fighting Eist, while her husband laughs deep in his chest. Both of them smiling and happy. 

They raise her together. 

Eist teaches her about the sea.

_“That star,” he whispers, smiling as Cirilla trails a finger over his arm until her finger is pointing where his is. “If you’re ever lost, you find the brightest star in the sky and you follow it.” The seriousness of his tone is not lost to her. She nods her head. “It’ll take you home.”_

_“Back to you?” Cirilla asks, head tilted eyes bright and curious._

_Eist swallows the lump in his throat,” yes. It’ll bring you back to me.” Cirilla nods her head, finding that answer satisfactory before leaning back against his chest._

His proudest moments with Cirilla are nothing like Calanthe’s. 

Calanthe praises Cirilla for strength, for education. The day she knocked Eist’s feet out from underneath during a wooden sword fight was certainly at the top of the list. When she learned to walk, read, and her work with Mousesack all good things too. She liked to see Cirilla was learning. Using her brain to beat others. To see her develop the skills of a leader… of a woman who lives to see old age. 

Eist wants personality, cunning. It was interesting to see her walk for the first time but it was cooler when she started cursing. Calanthe, in his opinion, always looked over the cool things Cirilla did. When she went sailing for the first time and didn’t get seasick (he was so proud that he put her up on his shoulders and told the whole crew about his granddaughter). Teaching her knuckles bones or fooling around the halls of the castle. Perhaps it wasn’t war tactics but his games made her agile. 

It causes countless arguments between them. Calanthe wants to raise a child stronger, vigilant. She wants Cirilla to outlive them both and to be a better leader than even Calanthe. To do that, Cirilla needs to study, she needs to work. She needs to spend more time in the classroom and less time sneaking about with Eist. He fears a premature demise for her as well, it’s why he cherishes her youth. The way she used to giggle and butcher his name. She’s too old for that now. That terrifies him. 

Their fear spares her life.  
Eist’s death is a gasp, a grunt of discomfort, the sound of his body meeting the earth. His death is Calanthe wailing in anger and pain, as he lays motionless at her side. Always at her side. An exhalation of his sins and perils as he’s lost to the world. All of the resentment he held over himself, the guilt… released with one final exhale. The rattle of death. 

Calanthe closes her eyes, the cold air blowing her hair back. She imagines it’s Eist’s fingers, softly tucking her hair back. That he’s right in front of her, the warmth of his body just a step away. Her death is quick. She’s dead before she ever hits the ground, in the safety of Eist’s arms. 

Cirilla stands in the woods. Tears streaming down her cheeks, her shoulders trembling. Calanthe’s voice urges her onward. Eist is by her side, holding her hand as she uses the stars to guide her like he used to do when she was small. They’re going to Calanthe, she tells herself. She has no food, nothing but the clothes on her back. Armed with Eist’s cunning wit and Calanthe’s determination, Cirilla searches for her destiny. Ready for anything. 

**Author's Note:**

> I NEED THEM NOT TO DIE, SOMEONE WRITE A FIC WHERE THEY DON'T DIE  
> PLEASE


End file.
